A Rose by Another Name
by Wannabe Detective M
Summary: A Sherlock adaption of Beauty and the Beast. When Dr. John Watson returns from the army, he is called by a strange man to live in a manor and take care of his family member whose "days are limited." Turns out this family member is Sherlock Holmes, a man who was cursed with some characteristics of a dragon. Somewhat Smaug!lock; John!lock; rated T for language and blood.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

Once upon a time, not too long ago, there lived a young man in a large manor in the woods. He was exceptionally intelligent and charming in every way. Sadly, many people did not see that; most people paid more attention to his older brother, the favorite of basically everyone. Not given the appreciation he so desired, he became cold and closed.

One winter's night, a poor woman came to the manor, asking for shelter from the bitter cold. The young man was as cold as the winter snow, turning the poor woman away. The woman warned the young man that for his selfish ways, he would later be punished.

When the young man turned her away once more, she grabbed him by the arm, revealing her foxlike appearance. She began to curse him, planning on turning him into a monstrous dragon. As the transformation began, he pulled out of her grip, leaving him with a few dragon-like characteristics. Although the transformation wasn't complete, he looked monstrous and hideous, like a mutation, and the woman accepted it.

The woman explained that if the young man did not find someone to love him in ten years, then he would die a horrible monster. With this, she left.

Many of the servants left the manor after seeing this cursed form of the man. Only a few stayed, including his brother, who tried his best to find the cure for this curse.

Many years past, and the monster began to lose all hope, locking himself away in his manor, not stepping outside.

For who could ever learn to love him?

* * *

**Author's Note: Hello again! This is my new fan fiction. Now, the thing is it won't come as soon as my last one did, only because I wrote my first one ahead of time (the eager beaver I was). I will be really busy while a while, so don't expect to shave new chapters every day. Maybe I'll find time to do so, but maybe not. Sorry. I'm not good at explaining. **

**- Detective M. **


	2. Chapter 1: John

**Chapter One: John**

It was a nice spring day when John decided to take a walk. He thought about stopping at the store or maybe look for a job somewhere.

Yep, thought John. This is as good as it's going to get, I suppose.

Dr. John Watson was a familiar face around town. He had just returned from the war four months ago, and almost everyone knew who he was. John was a kinder man, with a generous smile and a gentle personality. You wouldn't imagine that kind of man in the army.

Truly, John was a brave man, to go into the cold army and stitch up the wounds of bleeding soldiers who fought tirelessly for their country. Now he was back in his home town with his sister, Harry, who was a recovering alcoholic. It wasn't as exciting and dangerous as the war; it was simple and normal, just how he wanted. He was relaxed.

Well, sort of.

When John returned from the war, he was openly single and was not only looking for a job, but maybe a girlfriend, too. Maybe he could settle down and start a family with her. But, no. Instead of every girl falling for the army doctor, John got a creepy stalker known as Jim Moriarity.

"Hey there, Johnny!"

John flinched at the sound of Moriarity's sing-song voice. He turned around to find the pale man in a dark suit, along with his rugged blonde sidekick, Sebastian Moran.

"What'cha doing?" Moriarity asked, wrapping his arm around John's shoulder. John quickly took his arm away and took a few steps backward, already uncomfortable.

"Just walking, I suppose," John answered, trying his best to be friendly. "Did you need something?"

"Need something?" Moriarity replied. "No. We just thought you looked a bit lonely, walking around here all by yourself, you pretty thing."

"I can manage."

"_Sure_ ya can," retorted Sebastian, smirking.

"Listen, why don't you come with us, take a walk, have a chat, drink a beer. It would be fun, just the three of us. Or, if you want, it can be...two of us."

"Yes, you and Sebastian can take a walk together, Jim. I'm fine with that-"

"I meant you and me, Johnny Boy! Come on."

"Sorry, I would love to stay and chat, but I have to get home. You see, my sister-"

"Oh yeah," said Sebastain. "That crazy drunk bitch you call a sister waiting for you at home? Believe me, she needs all the help she can get!"

"Don't you dare talk about my sister that way!"

"Yeah!" said Jim in a mimic. "Don't talk about his sister that way!"

"She's recovering," said John. "And I have to go. She needs me." John began to walk away as he heard Moriarity's cackle and Sebastian's laugh from behind him.

"Maybe some other time, Johnny Boy!" Moriarity called to John. John felt a chill down his spine as he headed on home.

* * *

"How was your day in town?" Harry asked John, who just got home.

"Fine," John replied.

"Something wrong?"

"Oh, nothing. I'm just having a rough day is all."

"Rough day? Maybe you should talk to someone about it?"

"Like you?"

"Like a friend or something."

"I don't have any friends here, Harry." John sat down at the table with Harry, head down, elbows on the table. Harry stared at him for a while. She hadn't seen her brother in years. Since then, he lost all his friends.

"What about Jim and Seb?" Harry asked. "They seem nice."

"They seem creepy," John replied. "And I think Jim is gay for me."

"What's wrong with being gay?"

"Nothing! Nothing's wrong with it. It's just that Moriarity tends to...he doesn't understand the term 'personal space,' you know? Hs rude and conceited and...just downright creepy."

"Yeah, I'll admit, he's pretty weird. But so are you. And so am I. And so is everyone else."

"I guess you're right..."

"Hey, you still looking for a job?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I just got a call today from this guy. He was looking to hire you to work in a manor! His brother is sick or something, and apparently, he says you're his last shot."

"Really?"

"Yeah! Crazy, right?"

"You're not just saying this?"

"Would I ever lie? Don't answer that. I'm just saying, I wrote the guy's number, it's on the fridge, and maybe you could consider it. What do you say? I heard it's good pay."

John thought about this for a minute. He did need a job, but with his bad leg and his military career, would he be able to try another medical occupation?

"I'll think about it," John said, nodding and leaving the table.


	3. Chapter 2: I Just Don't Deserve You

**Chapter Two: I Just Don't Deserve You**

John decided to sleep on the thought of a job offer. He didn't get a lot of detail from Harry, except that he would work in a manor and the pay was good. He sat in bed with the thought of working in a manor for some guy's sick brother. He imagined it would be a good experience; he was more of a surgeon, though. So why would someone call a surgeon to take care of a sick man?

Then John remembered what Harry said. "You're his last shot." No wonder they called a surgeon; John was probably the closest they could get to a good doctor for this man. After all, John was a very good doctor, who had seen a lot of injuries and violent deaths. It was a bit of trouble, and he had seen far too much, enough for a lifetime. If this guy called a surgeon, would John see more of this? Probably.

John wanted to sleep on this thought, but he couldn't. The only reason he was up so late was because of the nightmares he was having. The sounds of gunshots, the sight of bleeding corpses and bone, and the memories of running through fields of tall grass with other soldiers, carrying a gun, and killing a man, was enough to scare John stiff, make him jolt upright in bed, and almost begin to cry.

He needed to calm down. He told himself time and time again that he really could use a therapist, but never made the time to see one. Last time he had a therapist, she couldn't help him.

What he really needed was a good night's sleep. He lied down on his pillow and closed his eyes, trying to get at least the few hours of rest that he needed.

The next morning, John found Jim Moriarity at his front door. At first, John didn't know who was at the door; his sister had just left for an AA meeting early that morning. He saw Jim out the window, standing ever so patiently, ever so eagerly to greet John that morning. Although John was reluctant, he couldn't just turn down someone at his door, so he let the creep in.

"Good morning, Johnny!" Jim chimed. "I hope you got a good sleep last night!" John didn't. "I certainly did, dreaming of you."

"That's nice, Jim," John replied.

"Enough about me. Let's talk about you. In fact,why don't we talk about us? Word from your sister is that you are single and ready to mingle!" Jim invited himself into the house, looking around at the walls and ceiling. He sat down in the kitchen, kicking his feet up on the table, leaning in the chair.

"Uh, Jim-" John tried to say, but Jim lifted his finger in the air.

"Don't speak, Johnny Boy. Allow me. Picture this! You, me, in Paris, happily married under the Eiffel Tower. Ah,_ c'est la vie_!"

John became speechless and uncomfortable. No wonder Jim had been hitting on him for so long. Jim's smile turned into content as he walked up, holding John's hands in his.

"Aw," Jim said, "I've left you speechless, _mon cheri_. I know we barely ever talk, but you have to admit, you knew this was coming."

John pulled his hands away, trying to head towards the front door. Jim ran after him, stopping, leaning against the door.

"So, Johnny, what will it be? Is it 'yes'? Or is it...'_oh yes_!'?"

"I..." John grabbed the doorknob. "I just don't deserve you." He opened the door, sending Jim falling to the ground. "But thanks for asking!" John shut the door.

John looked out the window, waiting for Jim to leave. He saw Jim talking to Sebastian outside his door, and, after a few minutes, the two men left. Once they did, John snuck out to the back of the house.

Outside was a small garden. The garden was meant to keep Harry distracted. In all reality, it kept John more occupied that Harry. They both found the garden quite nice. Now, John found it as solitude, where he could rant to himself.

"Can you believe it?" he began to rant aloud. "He asked me to marry him! Marry him? I don't even like him! I'm not even gay! Why doesn't he realize that? Is he so wrapped up in his own little world that he doesn't even see that I actually have an opinion? Jesus Christ! And I can't believe my sister would talk to that creep! Ugh!"

After about five more minutes of that, John went back inside the house. He took a shower, got changed, and made a cup of coffee. When he was in the kitchen, he noticed a slip of paper that was on the fridge with a magnet.  
John walked over to see that it was the number of the man who called for him. He went over and picked up the house phone, dialing the number on the fridge.

It was a man who answered the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hello. This is Dr. John Watson. My sister told me to call you back?"

"Ah, yes. Dr. Watson. So nice of you to call back."

"Uh, my sister didn't exactly give me any detail as to what the job implied or anything like that."

"It's my brother, Dr. Watson. His days are limited, and I believe it is in my best interest that we get him a doctor."

"Alright."

"Your job implies that you will be staying in the manor with us. Depending on how my brother does, the most you'll be working for us is a few months. After that time, I will pay your expenses, and you will be on your way. Is that alright with you?"

"I guess so. Um, when do I start then?"

"The address is 221 Baker Street. We will send a car to your house shortly. Because if you are accepting the job, you will start immediately. I suggest you take the time to pack some belongings before we pick you up."

"Oh! Alright then. Thank you so much. Bye now."

And with that, John hung up the phone.


	4. Chapter 3: Beastly

**Chapter 3: Beastly**

A black car waited outside John's house after less than 20 minutes. John was already packed up (he didn't have a lot of belongings to pack, just some clothes and some medical supplies, his laptop, and a notebook. He immediately went downstairs and outside, where a chauffeur opened the door for him. John felt odd, being treated like this; he wasn't into the whole "fancy rich" lifestyle, but this new client of his obviously lived like that.

John stepped into the car with his bags, and the chauffeur drove off. The ride was ridiculously long, about twenty minutes, and was very silent. John was new to this, and wasn't very good at making conversation. But in the car was a woman, texting on her phone, with tan skin and dark hair.

"Hello," he said.

"Hi," the girl replied without looking at him.

"I'm John."

"I know."

"And you are?"

"Uh...Anthea."

"You say that like it's not your real name."

"And?"

"I was just saying...okay then. So, where are we going?"

"Holmes Manor."

"And who's the guy who's 'days are limited'?"

"That would be Mr. Holmes's brother. You were told this."

"Right."

After that, John stopped talking to "Anthea."

Soon enough, the car rolled past the large black gates of the manor. The manor was quite large, almost like a castle. Like a mini castle. Anthea led John inside the manor, which had the interior of a Victorian manor.

"The Holmes family is very cultured," Anthea said. "I'll have Mrs. Hudson show you your room. Until then, stay put. Mr. Holmes should be here shortly."

John looked around. The manor had a huge staircase, the bars white-painted wood and the stairs covered in red carpet. The hallways of the upstairs could be seen, blocked by more white bars like the staircase. The walls were painted brown with an almost floral pattern.

John thought the place was lovely. He looked up to the west corridor, where he saw a moving shadow. A moving shadow?

"Hello?" John called. The shadow disappeared quickly behind the wall.

"Hello?" a voice from behind John called. John quickly turned around to find a small old woman behind him.

"Who were you talking to?" she asked.

"Uh," John replied, "I thought I saw someone up there." John pointed towards the west corridor.

"Oh," the old woman said. "That was probably him."

"My patient, then?"

"Whatever you like to call him. I'm Mrs. Hudson, by the way."

"Dr. Watson. You can call me John, though. It's nice to meet you."

"I'll show you to your room, then." Mrs. Hudson led John up the stairs and into the east corridor (not the west, which made John a bit disappointed). The two walked until they reached a door, then Mrs. Hudson opened that door to a bedroom. The room was normal-looking, with a bed strewn in white sheets and a paisley-patterned comforter.

"I'm the housekeeper here," said Mrs. Hudson. "Everyone here has a specific job. Greg Lestrade is head of security, Anthea is Mr. Holmes's assistant, and Mr. Holmes is in charge of financial issues."

"What about his brother?"

"His brother...well, he's not doing so great. Even if he had a task to do, he'd refuse to do it. He's a stubborn thing."

"Seems like he's shy, too. Either that, or he just doesn't like new faces."

"He doesn't like _any_ faces, not even his own... I'll let you get situated. You can come downstairs and take a look around. But I should tell you that the west corridor is off limits unless otherwise said. Alright?"

"Alright then. Thanks, Mrs. Hudson."

"But anywhere else you can go. Like the garden, or the kitchen, or-"

"I get it."

"Sorry, dear. I'm just excited is all. Very rare we get a new face. I'll leave you be, then."

With that, Mrs. Hudson left the room, heading into the hall again. John began to unpack his things and place them into drawers. He then realized that he had packed his shotgun. Why did he pack his gun? Maybe he didn't want Harry to find it? No, it had been in the bag already; he never took it out of his suitcase, and now he had it in the manor. No matter, John thought, you can never be too safe.

John put his gun in the night stand drawer and headed out of the room.

He was still curious about what was in the west corridor. John began to head for the staircase when he saw the shadow again. He tried to back up, to get a closer look without entering the corridor.

"Hello?" he called again. The shadow again hid from John. "Aw, come on, don't be so shy. I'm Dr. John Watson, I'm new here."

"Yes," said a deep voice. "I know who you are, a doctor who was in the war. Which one, Afghanistan or Iraq?"

"Afghanistan. How did you know? Come out here so I can see you."

"You don't want to see me."

"I'm your doctor. I'm going to have to see you sometime. Believe me, I've seen a lot of illness. Nothing is new to me."

The man began to step out into the light, revealing his true form. This was nothing John had seen before. He looked somewhat like a man, with a pale face and dark, curly hair. He was tall and thin, but he possessed many qualities of...a dragon. He had black sharp horns on his head, pointy ears like an elf, and a crimson dragon tail.

John couldn't believe it. It was like looking at a character from a storybook. John was mesmerized, frozen in place.

"Go ahead!" the man snarled. "Run! Scream! Do what all the others did. Leave if you want! See if I care!"

"H-hold on!" John said. "It's not that bad. I mean, I've seen _worse_!"

The man quickly went over to John in one graceful movement. He bared his teeth, so close to John that he could feel his body heat. He was growling at John, who at first was startled, but was now unamused.

"You're not scared?" the man asked.

"I was a bit at first," John replied. "I'll admit that. But to be completely honest, I kinda find it cool."

The man seemed to calm down a bit, but he still stood over John.

"I don't need you," he said. "I _never_ needed you. My brother just thinks it's a good idea to need someone like you around. Why would I need a former army doctor from Afghanistan with an alcoholic brother to help me?"

"Alcoholic _sister_," John corrected. The man became irritated so easily, turning and heading towards the shadows again.

"Wait! I didn't get your name!"

The man stopped and turned toward John.

"Sherlock," he said simply, turning back around and heading away.

_Sherlock_, John thought. _What a strange name. What a strange guy._


	5. Chapter 4: My, What a Guy Like Jim!

**Chapter Four: My, what a Guy like Jim!**

Back in town, Jim Moriarity and Sebastian Moran were in the bar, watching the rugby match on the television along with some other strange blokes from town. Sebastian comes to sit down next to Jim.

"Beer?" Sebastian asked.

"Not now, Seb," Jim replied. "I'm mad. Nothing has been going right for me these past years. First, I lose the location of my nemesis, then I am rejected by the man I desired to marry."

"Sucks to be you." Sebastian took a sip of his beer. "So what? You're still a pretty good consulting crim-"

"_Shush_, Seb!"

"Sorry, Jim."

"Why does nothing go right, Seb? I, Jim Moriarity, know how to get my way around this town, and there have only been two men that have refused me. Gah!" Jim sunk his head onto the bar table.

That's when Harry stepped into the bar.

"Get me a fucking beer!" she called to the bartender. The bartender slid her a beer. "Cheers!" She took a sip of beer and looked over to Jim and Sebastian.

"What's got him down?" Harry asked Sebastian about his depressed little friend.

"Apparently nothing's going right," Sebastian answered. "He's just mad because your brother refused to marry him."

"Oi, Jim! Just because I like girls doesn't mean my brother's a queer too! Besides, he won't have to worry bout John no more. He just gotta job as a doctor in some manor or something."

Jim put his head up and looked at Harry.

"A manor?" he asked. He was now full of interest.

"Yeah," Harry said, taking a sip of beer. "He just left this morning, so..."

Jim looked at Sebastian.

"You're not thinking what I'm thinking, are you?"

"What are you thinking?" Sebastian asked. Jim gave Sebastian and Harry a sly and cruel grin.

"I might want to pay John a _visit_ sometime..."

"You guys are fucking creepy," Harry said. "I'm outta here!" Harry got up and left the bar, leaving a couple pounds to compensate for the beer she ordered.

"Seb," Jim said. "I think we may have found the answer to all my problems. Isn't that great?"

"Great, Jim," Sebastian replied, taking another sip of beer. "Now you won't be complaining to me about all this shite."

* * *

**Author's Note: Hey! Hope you're enjoying the story so far! Thanks a bunch for the feedback! I really appreciate it! **

**Anyway, here's a Jim chapter. I'm going to sad more chapters from not just John anymore. Yes, there will be Sherlock chapters in the future! **

**- Detective M. **


	6. Chapter 5: Is This Home?

**Chapter Five: Is this Home?**

Greg Lestrade found John outside, roaming the perimeter of the manor. He must be the new guy, Greg thought.

"You lost?" Greg called. John stopped and turned towards him.

"Oh no," John called back. "I was just walking around." Greg walked up to John and shook his hand.

"Greg Lestrade, head of security."

"Dr. John Watson. Uh, doctor, I guess."

"You guess?"

"Well, I am a doctor. I was just stating my occupation here is all."

"Then you're also a companion."

"Companion?"

"Yeah. Truth is that we needed a doctor for Sherlock. He's only got so long until...well, we thought that a doctor would also be a good choice for a companion. He could use some friends. He's got none."

"Oh. Why not?"

"Because he's a _freak_." Greg and John turned to find a girl in police uniform. "Don't you get that he is one? He's a freaking dragon-man!"

"Donovan!" Greg said. "You don't say that, not here."

"Or what? He's going to kill me? I'm not afraid of him, Lestrade. He doesn't scare me anymore."

"I'm just saying, he gets pretty upset."

"He has _no_ feelings! There's no way I'd be able to hurt them!"

"Donovan! Just get back to your post, would you?" Donovan scrunched her nose, then walked over to John.

"See? Even he's afraid of him. If you know any better, you'll leave. Sherlock Holmes is a vicious beast, and he can kill you if you push the wrong buttons. You understand?"

"I'm not leaving," John said. "He needs me."

Donovan turned around and walked back to her post.

"Sorry about her," Greg said. "She's been here a while."

"_Are_ you afraid of him?" John asked.

"I've known him for years. I am afraid only of what might become of him. Plus, he has a temper. Donovan does make a good point when she says not to push the wrong buttons. He can get pretty temperamental."

"I'll be careful, then."

"If anything, try your best to straighten him out. That would help a ton. The spoiled brat..."

* * *

John went back into the manor to find Sherlock in the parlor, lying on the floral sofa, hands folded under his chin, his tail swaying. There was a tray of tea for him on the coffee table. John walked into the parlor and sat in a chair across from him.

Sherlock noticed him sit down and glared at him without moving his head. John looked at the tea set, realizing that the tea wasn't poured yet. He began to pour the tea into the cups (there were two, how convenient!)

"Were you expecting me?" John asked as he took a cup of tea.

"You think just because I had Mrs. Hudson bring out two cups of tea means I was expecting you?"

"Expecting _someone_."

"Not at all."

"So you just drink two cups of tea?"

"No. I just have the extra cup."

"Seems like you're lonely."

"Lonely? I am not lonely! I live here with the Guard and Mrs. Hudson and my brother. I am far from being lonely!"

"Seems like a lonely person would do something like-"

"You don't know _anything_ about me!" Sherlock hissed. Now Sherlock was off the couch and near the coffee table, growling at John, who was simply enjoying his tea.

"This is good tea," said John. "As hot as that temper you've got." Sherlock's long fingernails scratched into the coffee table. He was furious now at John, growling, at any moment ready to attack him. John looked up at the curly-haired, pissed off man, and put his cup of tea down.

"Okay," said John. "Don't get upset. Calm down now-"

Suddenly, John found himself under Sherlock, his hands pressing onto the doctor's chest. John's eyes were wide, pulse elevated, breathing heavy. He grabbed Sherlock's arms.

"Calm down, would you?" John said. "Jesus Christ, you didn't need to do that. I made a few comments and you get all upset?" Sherlock got off of John's chest, sitting on his knees. John got up from the floor and walked out of the parlor, looking back to see Sherlock still sitting on the floor. John then noticed that the tea had spilled. John went into the kitchen and grabbed a wet towel, then came back to clean up the tea. Sherlock sat there on the floor, but watched.

"You don't have to-" Sherlock began.

"No," John interrupted. "I need to do _something_ around this place, since you obviously 'don't need me'."

"Not yet. Apparently, I will eventually need you. The time will come. I just don't need you now." Sherlock got up from the floor and walked away, leaving John to clean up his mess of tea.

"This is your mess, too, Sherlock!" John said. "I suggest you stop acting like a spoiled brat and help me out a bit!"

Sherlock stopped for a few seconds, but then kept walking, dragging his tail.

"Hey!" John called. "Don't ignore me! Come back here!" John got up and tried to get Sherlock, but somebody stopped him. It was a man in a suit, tall, older-looking, and sophisticated. He carried a black umbrella behind him. He grabbed John's shoulder.

"Don't," he said. "My brother isn't accustomed to 'helping'."

"Someone should teach him," John replied.

"Oh, he knows how. He just isn't very good at it is all, especially in this form he's in. Leave him be for now. You were very lucky today, Dr. Watson, that he didn't kill you."

The man was obviously Mr. Holmes. Mr. Holmes left John there by the staircase as the doctor watched his "patient" storm back to the west corridor.


	7. Chapter 6: How Long Must This Go On?

**Chapter Six: How Long Must This Go On?**

For many days, Sherlock began to follow John Watson around the manor. He followed at a respectable distance (because of the whole tea incident), observing the doctor. If John had seen Sherlock following him, he would've assumed the man was stalking him. Was that what Sherlock was doing? Sherlock didn't care; he liked observing John. It kept him busy.

One day Sherlock was caught. It was the day John went out into the garden. The garden was full of magnolia trees and rose bushes, now in bloom. Sherlock climbed up into one of the magnolia trees, observing as John admired the bushes and trees.

Under the sun, John's golden hair shone, and his blue eyes popped with the colors of spring. He was truly a beautiful sight to Sherlock, who lied on a magnolia branch, swaying his tail back and forth in amusement.

That's when Sherlock saw John turn around.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock was startled, then almost fell out of the tree, but his tail got caught in between two branches, and he hung upside down like a monkey. John laughed when he saw Sherlock. Sherlock felt embarrassed, blushing, but he liked the sound of John's laughter.

Sherlock too, his tail from the tree branches, and now it was sore. He thought it was tedious, being all sore. He looked at John, who was still smiling.

"So," John said, "you've finally come out of hiding. Where have you been the past couple of days? In the tree?"

"I've been in the manor," Sherlock replied.

"Following me. Don't think I didn't notice. Your tail gave it away." Sherlock looked down at his tail, internally cursing the fact that he had a bloody tail. John smiled again.

"Look," he continued, "if this is about the whole tea incident, I'm not mad at you or anything. I just was hoping you'd help a little is all."

"I wouldn't be much help," Sherlock mumbled.

"Hey, Sherlock, can I ask you something? How did you know that I was an army doctor?"

"I didn't know. I saw. Your haircut and the way you put yourself out is military, but your occupation says otherwise, so army doctor. You were relieved of services due to an injury, am I correct? Otherwise, you'd still be in the army. That's why you walk with a little limp, because you have a bad leg from your injury."

"I was actually shot in the shoulder."

"Oh. So nerves must've been connected, causing it to affect your leg more than your shoulder. Understood."

"Wow."

"What?"

"That was...amazing, how you just observed all that."

"Really?"

"Yeah, it was extraordinary. Quite extraordinary."

"That's not what people normally say."

"What do people normally say then?"

"'Piss off!'"

John chuckled, and Sherlock smiled. "You know, Sherlock, you're not too bad."

Sherlock looked up at John in surprise, looked down, then left the garden.

On his way back to the manor, he ran into Greg.

"Oh hey," said Greg. "There you are. What are you up to? Find a dead animal and are trying to find the cause of death or what?"

"I was observing Dr. Watson," Sherlock confessed.

"Observing? More like stalking."

"I wasn't stalking!"

"You like him, don't you?"

"I tolerate his existence, but he's soft, I realized. One mistake and I could send him flying out the window."

"Sherlock, he can't annoy you so bad you'd throw him out the window."

"No, he'll be so scared that he'll fling _himself_ out the window!"

"I don't think so. He told me that you needed him, and that's why he's staying."

"I don't need him now, Greg. I will in a couple of months. I'm already losing most of my balance."

"You're getting close. I will inform your brother, he'll know what to-"

"No! This was my mistake! It's my curse! I don't need help breaking it, I know how. I just..."

"You need to control your temper. You could also be less stubborn."

"Says you and everyone else. I've heard it all before, Greg!" Sherlock stormed back into the manor, then quickly headed for the west corridor, where he entered his bedroom and locked the door with a slam.

He wasn't angry, no, but he was stressed. He didn't understand anything about this army doctor, and he understands a lot of things. John Watson was just so...nice? Beautiful?

If only it wasn't so hard, Sherlock thought. If only he didn't have a time limit to make John fall in love with him before he fell violently sick and died the beast that he was turned into. Nevertheless, he had to at least try. He had to try to woo John somehow, make him fall in love with Sherlock. He just had to act like a gentleman.

"Act like a gentleman," he said to himself. "Act like a gentleman. Act like a gentle..._man_."


	8. Chapter 7: Promise or No Promise

**Chapter Seven: Promise or No Promise**

John was a curious fellow. Although he wasn't necessarily afraid of Sherlock the half-dragon-half-man-thing, he was curious as to why he was the way he was. There was no possible way that Sherlock was born like that; something must have happened to him. Now John was way too old to believe in magic or curses, but, in this case, he might.

No one ever told him anything about Sherlock's curse. When he would have conversations with some of the people who stayed at the manor- Mrs. Hudson, Greg Lestrade, Mr. Holmes, etc. Almost every conversation they had led into the subject of Sherlock.

"What happened to him?" John would ask. Every time he did, he would get an answer like this:

"There are certain things that should be left unsaid."

"It would be best if you didn't know just yet."

This frustrated John a bit, but he wasn't going to get all upset about it like Sherlock did whenever John would disagree with him. Lately, Sherlock had been better behavior-wise, but not by much. There was little progress made in the matter of a week since John had entered the manor.

By now, John had seen every part of the manor, except for the west corridor. He tried once to enter it, but the dragon caught him and stopped in front of him, literally curling up on the floor, not allowing John to even step over him to get in.

"You stubborn brat!" John had said to Sherlock. "It's not like I was going to touch anything. I just want to look-"

"You looked," retorted Sherlock. "Now step away. This place is off limits."

"Not to Mrs. Hudson or anyone else."

"You haven't earned entry!"

"'_Earned_ entry?' You've gotta be kidding me!"

John had turned and walked away from the west corridor, and decided that it would be useless to try again. Maybe he would be patient and try his best to find out how to "earn entry" into the west corridor.

Like _that_ was ever going to happen.

If John learned anything, it was that if he was ever going to find anything out, he had to figure it out for himself.

It was he night where Sherlock wasn't feeling too great. His skin was paler than normal and he seemed a little lightheaded.

"Are you alright?" John asked.

"Fine," Sherlock replied.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I just...need some air. It's stuffy in here, I'm going outside."

"Make sure to come in soon, dear," Mrs. Hudson said. "Weather says it might rain."

Sherlock walked out of the manor. John watched out the window as Sherlock slowly and peacefully strolled down the front lawn. He was a graceful and agile man, John thought. With his dark curly locks and his structured figure, he would have made a very attractive man, beside the fact he had a tail and horns.

John decided to take this opportunity to look into the west corridor, since it seemed like Sherlock was going to be out there for a while. John made sure no one was around when he walked up the stairs and headed towards the corridor. Thus, John entered the dark hallway.

The hallway barely had any light; there were lights, but the circuits had been ripped and frayed. The wallpaper was torn too, like an animal had come in and tore it apart with its claws. John could only imagine that this was the work of Sherlock.

John continued to walk down the hallway as the lights flickered with their dim light, like a horror movie. John tried not to be scared; he was in the army, faced worse than this. He kept on walking until he reached a bedroom door, the only door down the hallway.

The door was black, scratched up, and almost falling off the hinges. John slowly and carefully opened the door to find a dark bedroom.

It was just a bedroom, like his, only it was messier. There was a chemistry set in the back, and the floor was covered in clothing that he had worn (Mrs. Hudson will come in there once a week to pick up the clothes and wash them). John walked around, trying to find a light switch. All he could find was a dresser with open and askew drawers, a mirror completely cracked, and an hourglass.

An _hourglass_?

John noticed it sitting by the window, a golden hourglass, fully functioning, turning automatically. John noticed that the hourglass had a dial on it; it read: 2191. What did it mean?

John walked up closer to it, stretching out his hand towards it, when suddenly a firm hand clutched onto his wrist with a firm grip. He could hear a low growl from behind his shoulder.

John quickly turned around to find Sherlock standing behind him, glaring at him, ready at any moment to attack. He was the hunter, and John was the prey.

"Sherlock, please!" John begged. "I didn't mean any harm! I was just-"

"I told you never to come here!" Sherlock snapped.

"I'm sorry-"

"Why did you? Do you realize what you could've _done_?!"

"Sherlock, I-"

"_Get out!_" Sherlock grabbed John by the arm, and as John pulled away, he ripped his sleeve as well as his skin, causing his upper arm to bleed. John fell to the floor, but scrambled to get up again and ran out of the room, then out of the manor.

"Where do you think you're going?" Greg noticed John trying to run past the gate, calling for him.

"I can't, Greg!" John said. "I'm sorry. I can't stay here! There's no way I can! He's _hopeless_!"

Greg just stood there and let John leave. John was afraid that he had seen this before; John was most likely not the first to be the doctor for Sherlock.

With that, John ran through the woods and tried to make it to town on foot.


	9. Chapter 8: The Hounds

**Chapter Eight: The Hounds**

John kept running. Where was he going? He didn't know. He just needed to get out of that bloody manor, away from the gates, away from the west corridor, away from Sherlock.

Sherlock had been doing so well. What was so different now? John really had no one to blame but himself, putting himself in that kind of situation...

No. This was Sherlock's fault, for being a stubborn brat. If he had not been so arrogant and spoiled and aggressive, John wouldn't be in this situation.

John was now at war with his thoughts. Who was to blame for this? John did agree to take care of Sherlock, but he had no idea that Sherlock was a spoiled brat. If anything, he didn't expect him to be a fucking dragon!

John clenched his arm, still bleeding as it fell with the light rain. It was a bad day to leave the manor, but he was too proud at the moment to turn back.

That's when John saw a beacon of hope for him. It wasn't the best beacon, but it was a beacon- Jim Moriarity, just walking around aimlessly in the woods. it didn't occur to John at first that this was odd.

"Jim!" John called. Jim took one look at John and immediately became surprised.

"My God, John! What happened?" Jim ran over to John, looking at his bleeding arm.

"It's nothing, Jim, I'm fine."

"I was looking all over for you!"

"All over for...me?"

"My car is just that way. I can get you to a hospital...who did this to you?"

"Uh, no one. I just..." John couldn't tell Jim about Sherlock; he had a good feeling that it was supposed to remain a secret. Besides, if he told Jim that he was attacked by a "dragon man," what were the chances that Jim would believe a word he said?

"I just hit a branch is all," said John.

"I heard you got a job, Johnny," Jim said. "You're a doctor at the Holmes manor, hm?"

"How did you know that?"

"Harry told me."

"Ugh, Harry."

"We should go, Johnny. Rumor has it that wild hounds roam these woods at night."

"Hounds? I don't see any-"

There was a howl in the night.

"Damn!" hissed Jim. "They can probably smell your blood."

"What?"

"Run, Johnny Boy! Run!"

Jim and John raced through the woods, criss-crossing and zig-zagging through the trees until John wasn't so sure where they were anymore. John could hear growling and snarling behind him; he dared not look behind to stare into the face of a menacing black dog with glowing red eyes.

Suddenly, John tripped on a tree branch. Fearing the end, he turned onto his back and saw the hounds. John counted seven of them. They creeped slowly towards him, cornering him on the tree. John kicked large sticks at them, but they ignored the flying debris.

One hound began to pounce, and John knew that it was over. It was all over, and now he regretted ever leaving the manor.

As the dog pounced, however, it was stopped and thrown to the ground by something else. No, not something else, someone else. John recognized the black curly locks and the red tail of the creature that was attacking the hound.

Sherlock had come to save him.

The dogs began too growl and attack Sherlock, completely ignoring John. In a massive fight, Sherlock began to throw the dogs against the trees and beat them down to the ground, in which they responded by biting at him and scratching him with their humongous paws. Sherlock would cry in slight pain at some points, but after a while, he had sent all the dogs running for their lives.

John stared in amazement as he backed away from the dragon. He looked around for Jim, but Jim was nowhere in sight. He must've gotten away quicker than John.

Behind him, John could hear Sherlock coughing and gasping for air. He turned around to find the dragon leaning against a tree, covered in blood, his hand covering his side, which was bitten.

John wanted to run. He wanted to leave, find shelter, get help for himself. But how could he? Sherlock had just saved his life; this stubborn creature had just risked his own life for the sake of someone he barely knew. John knew immediately that Sherlock needed a doctor; he needed John.

Sherlock looked over to John, his expression desperate and full of regret. John felt as if the man might start to cry. He walked over to Sherlock and put an arm around his shoulder, picking him up and trying to walk him back to the manor.

Sherlock would moan if John would barely touch his side as they tried to get to a road or somewhere. Once they reached a road, there was a black car waiting there. Was it Jim's car? No, it was Mr. Holmes, climbing out of the car, taking one look at them and sighing.

"Admit it now, Sherlock," he said. "You might need Dr. Watson now." Mr. Holmes opened the car door, letting John put Sherlock into the back seat, then they drove back to the manor.

* * *

**Author's Note: Hello! I see you all seem to enjoy this fan fiction so far. I am so glad that I got tremendous feedback on this story! Thanks so much! It is always appreciated!**

**I have more Fics coming along soon. "Fragment of a Man" is still in the works, and I'm also working on a new one (coming soon!) called "His First Name is Detective Inspector." Look forward to those!**

**- Detective M.**


	10. Chapter 9: According to Plan

**Chapter Nine: According to Plan**

Sebastian was waiting at the road, smoking a fag and leaning against a black car. He waited impatiently, and then looked up when he heard the rustling of leaves as his friend Jim came out of the woods. Jim was catching his breath and laughing manically.

"It took you long enough," Sebastian said, annoyed.

"You'll never believe this," said Jim. "The beast attacked Johnny!"

"The beast?"

"Yeah! And then I saw him again! The beast! You should've seen how glorious he was, Seb!"

"That's great, Jim."

"I can't believe, after all these years, I finally found the beast again! You know what that means, don't you?"

"Let me guess, we get to kill him?"

"Get excited Seb, because you are correct. And once I release Johnny Boy from the beast's chains, I will gladly marry him."

"Sounds like you're killing two birds with one stone here, Jim."

"Precisely." Jim climbed into his car with Sebastian and they drove off.

"So," Sebastian asked, "how are we going to kill the beast?"

"First off," Jim replied, "I need an excuse to get John out of the manor. Then, when the beast is at its most vulnerable, we will attack and let it die. And I know exactly how I'm going to do so..."

* * *

**Author's Note: Hey! Sorry I haven't updated this story in a while. I'm in exam week at school, and am still writing my fictions. I'm going to be very slow this next week, and I'm sorry. But I will try my best to get stuff uploaded for you guys! **

**As always, thank you for the lovely feedback and appreciation! **

**- Detective M**


	11. Chapter 10: Second Chances

**Chapter Ten: Second Chances**

"Hold still, will you?"

John was sitting by Sherlock, who was sitting on his bed, trying to tend to his wound on his side, but Sherlock was being childish, moving away any chance John got to touch him with a wet cloth.

"I'm trying to help you, Sherlock!" John said. "Please just stay still!" John finally got a cloth onto his side, and Sherlock winced in pain.

"Ow!" he snapped. "That hurts!"

"If you'd hold still, it wouldn't hurt as much!"

"This would have all been avoided if you had minded your own business and stayed away from the west corridor, you know."

"What?"

"Then I wouldn't have gotten mad, you wouldn't have gotten hurt and ran away, and I wouldn't be in this predicament."

"Oh, there were _plenty_ more reasons why I would want to escape a spoiled brat like you! I just needed a good reason to leave!"

Sherlock looked at John with a shocked and quite disappointed expression. John didn't mean what he said, but he said it anyway, just to get Sherlock to cooperate; John feared that he might have also just hurt Sherlock's feelings.

"Now hold still, would you?" John took a wet cloth and started to gently dab at Sherlock's side. Then he took a bandage and wrapped it up. "There. Better?" Sherlock nodded slowly, feeling achy and sore still. "Why don't you lie down, huh? There. Good..."

Sherlock lied down on the bed, looking at John.

"Dr. Watson," Sherlock said, "I didn't mean to hurt you in any way..." Sherlock looked over to John's arm, which was also bandaged.

"It's fine, Sherlock," John replied.

"No, I hurt you. It's the last thing I wanted to do, and-"

"Shh, don't stress yourself, you had a long day... Thank you, by the way. For saving my life back there. I was so sure that I was going to die out there. If you hadn't come along... Look, Sherlock, about what I just said about you being a brat, I didn't mean that entirely."

"_Entirely_?"

"That's not why I wanted to leave. I was just...scared that you might do something worse to me. I..."

"Dr. Watson, I am not a vicious killer. I would never-"

"I know. I'm sorry, I just misjudged you. So that's why I'm giving you a second chance."

"Good, because now I need you." Sherlock sat up in the bed again, swinging his legs over the edge.

"You need me?"

"The hourglass. Hourglasses usually last for an hour before being flipped. Each hour that passes is another hour less I have until I am expected to die."

"What? So, you're going to die then?"

"Possibly. That all depends."

"On what?"

"Circumstances, Dr. Watson. That is all I'm allowed to-" Sherlock began to cough up some blood.

"Okay, okay, lie down, Sherlock. Good. Alright, you'll be better in the morning." John covered Sherlock's body in a warm blanket, patting his shoulders. Then John got up to leave as he turned off the lights.

"Stay with me?" Sherlock muttered. John turned around, hearing him slightly. _Sherlock had lost a lot of blood_, he thought, _and he is dying. Of course now, when he needs me, he wants my comfort._ John waked back to the bed and sat on the edge, keeping Sherlock company in the dark room.

John watched the hourglass as it turned once again. Each hour was an hour less until he was expected to die. As John sat there, he sighed. Suddenly, he heard the small sound of quiet sobs coming from his wounded patient. He was probably having a nightmare. John tried to hush him as he rubbed his shoulders.

"It will be okay," John said. "It's alright. Just go to sleep." In a way, John though, Sherlock was like a child. Sure, he was stubborn and arrogant and a spoiled brat, but he was also sensitive and longed for comfort, although he tried to push it away. And now John had a good idea of what was going on- Sherlock was dying, and John had to take care of him. John now wondered how long he would have exactly.

* * *

**Author's Note: Hello! I'd just like to add a couple of notes right now. If you are a fan of sick!fics like me, this is going to probably end up becoming like one, as you have probably already guessed. Sorry. I'm a sucker for angst. **

**Anyway, thanks so much for the tremendous feedback. This is now my most popular story! Yay! I have lots of chapters left in this story, and I plan on updating as soon as possible, although my exams are starting tomorrow! **

**Once again, thanks a lot and happy reading!**

**- Detective M. **


	12. Chapter 11: Something that I Didn't See

**Chapter Eleven: Something that I Simply Didn't See**

John went out into the garden the one day, starting up a chat with Mrs. Hudson and Greg. The ground was still damp from the rain, but the air had that sort of feel to it after it rained that some people enjoy.

Sherlock watched John from his bedroom window. He looked down upon the kind old woman, the loyal guard and the gentle, comforting doctor. They were the only people he actually tolerated and somewhat appreciated their company. After the hound incident, he promised himself that he would never try to hurt John or anyone ever again (unless they were a threat). And, because of the incident, Sherlock began following him again.

When John was alone in the garden, Sherlock climbed out of his window and crept in behind him, lying back in the tree like last time. John turned around once, but didn't see Sherlock, so shrugged it off and kept walking.

_He's stressed_, Sherlock deduced. _His arm is still in some pain from when I scratched it. He's not limping; that's a good sign, I guess._ Out of all the things Sherlock could deduce, he couldn't deduce John's feelings towards him. As John kept walking, Sherlock began to follow him among the magnolia trees.

John didn't notice Sherlock until the dragon fell straight into the rose bush.

"Oh my God!" John exclaimed as Sherlock crawled out, thorns on his arms. "Are you okay?"

"Just fine," Sherlock replied, pulling the thorns from his skin, then licking off the excess blood. "Not the first time I've fallen in the rose bush." He looked at John mid-lick and gave him a quirky grin, his tongue still out. John chuckled.

"You're an odd one, aren't you?"

"So I've been told."

"You don't have to follow me like a stalker all the time. You can actually try to make conversation like a normal human being."

"Three years ago, I would have refused to see the sun."

"Really?"

"So, about this whole 'second chances' thing."

"Yeah?"

"Do you think maybe we could...have dinner?"

"Like a date?"

"What?" Sherlock was blushing. "No! I'm just saying, maybe like dinner as friends."

"Oh. Friends. Right, of course. Sure, I'd love to."

"Really? Great!"

"Tonight then?"

"Tonight? Uh...in the dining area. Yes. Tonight sounds good."

"Great."

* * *

"So, you asked out Dr. Watson then?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"It's not a date," Sherlock replied. "It's just two friends having dinner. Alone. In a romantic setting... Don't tell Dr. Watson."

Mrs. Hudson giggled. "You're so cute when you try not to be nice." Sherlock wanted to tell her to shut up, but he couldn't bring himself to say that to sweet Mrs. Hudson. He didn't want to hear her nagging that he had to listen to since he lived in the manor, even before the curse.

"Just remember, dear," Mrs. Hudson said, "don't force him. These things take time."

"I don't have a lot of time, Mrs. Hudson. I'm already feeling lightheaded and losing my balance. At any moment, I could fall ill, spend the rest of my short, miserable life bedridden!" Sherlock sat on the floor, his knees to his chest, head down, arms wrapped around his knees, pouting and worrying.

"Oh, Sherlock," said Mrs. Hudson reassuringly, "you'll be alright. If you truly care for Dr. Watson, everything will be fine in the end."

"You say that now, but then something will go wrong and-"

"At least try, Sherlock! That's all you can do at this point is try. And who knows? I think you might succeed. You are a chuffed young man still, despite the horns and the tail and the fangs."

"And the claws," Sherlock added.

* * *

**Author's Note: Hello again! I have a gift for you. Today I've decided to upload two chapters of this story instead of one! Just for you guys! **

**As of now, 57 people follow this story, and I have 19 reviews! Thank you so much for all the feedback and love! It means a lot! **

**- Detective M. **


	13. Chapter 12: He's No Prince Charming

**Chapter Twelve: He's No Prince Charming, but He's Close!**

It was just the two of them- Sherlock and John. John didn't realize until he saw Sherlock in a suit and tie that he was expected to dress nicely. He just wore his oatmeal-colored jumper and jeans.

"I'm sorry," John said when Sherlock was pouring tea into cups. "I didn't realize it was formal wear."

"Oh, that's alright," Sherlock said. "It's my fault, really. I should have dressed more casual."

"No! You look..._nice_."

"As do you. Come, sit." It was odd, John thought, that he and the man were alone in a small dining room, and he had dinner and everything set up. He was acting more like a gentleman, which was also very odd, but it was interesting.

"This is a date, isn't it?" John asked.

"No!" Sherlock said, his voice cracking. "This is just two people who like each other having dinner and chatting..."

"So basically a date."

"Of course not!"

"Sherlock, you invite me to dinner, dress nicely, have a fancy dinner and tea set up, and there's a candelabra on the table."

"There's _always_ a candelabra on the table."

"_Sherlock_." Sherlock looked at John for a long time, his tail moving nervously back and forth. Then he sighed in defeat and sat down at the table, handing John his plate (he doesn't eat, so he didn't bother making a plate for himself).

"I apologize," he said. "I didn't want this to seem like it was a date, but it is. I get it if you think that it's weird or wrong, I just..."

"It's alright," John said, taking a bite of food. "Completely alright. It's actually kind of cute, that you like me like that. And it was sweet of you to go to all this trouble to impress me." Sherlock was blushing now, and John chuckled.

"Aren't you going to eat something?" John asked.

"I don't eat," Sherlock replied. "Digestion slows me down."

"Come on, Sherlock. The point of dinner is that you eat with me, am I right?" Sherlock sighed again, then got up from the table and made himself a plate of food, eating it hesitantly.

It seemed to John that Sherlock had a taste for the food, but didn't want to eat it simply because he wasn't hungry. He felt bad that he made Sherlock eat, which was definitely something that one shouldn't do on a first date, but it seemed like Sherlock was willing to please him, no matter what, which John thought was nice of him.

"So," John began, "how did you end up becoming a dragon anyway?"

"Technically," replied Sherlock, "I am only partially a dragon. I would have been a full-fledged dragon if I was slow."

"What do you mean?"

"This really isn't something I like to talk about, Dr.- sorry, _John_."

"Sorry. I was just curious."

"What about you? You lived in town, with your alcoholic sister. But there's got to be another reason you left."

"There were many reasons I left. First, I had a good feeling that Harry could take care of herself. Second, I am getting a good pay in this job. Third, I don't really have any friends in town..."

"Why not?"

"I dunno. They all think I'm odd, I guess. Except Jim. He just wants to get into my pants."

"Oh." Sherlock looked down at his plate. "Is he your...?"

"What? _No_. Jim is a creep! I would never date him. I even told him I wasn't gay to get him off my back."

"But you _are_ gay?"

"Uh... I don't know, really. I've always been a little curious, but...you know, I guess I really don't care what gender of person I like."

"Oh!" Sherlock seemed surprised by John's remark, but it was true. John didn't necessarily care about gender or sex affiliation. He would date a guy if he truly loved him.

"So," Sherlock tried to talk on a new subject, "how do you like the manor? Nice? Spacious?"

"It's pretty amazing," John admitted. "I've never been in a fancy place like this before. I've never seen anything like this... I haven't seen anyone like _you_, that's a fact."

"I would be surprised if you had."

"Not just the dragon part, but also, I don't think I've met anyone who could tell me my whole life story from just looking at me. That's pretty fantastic."

"Thank you. And, I guess, I've never met anyone like you either. Unlike most of the servants who used to be here and most of the people who knew me, you're not afraid of me as much. Again, about the arm, it was-"

"I know, Sherlock. So, you don't have a lot of friends either, I suppose."

"Mrs. Hudson and Greg are the only people I have considered friends for the longest time. Then you showed up, and you became my friend too... You're the best friend I've ever had, and I can't afford to lose you..."

John looked at Sherlock, Sherlock at him. They stared for the longest moment, eyes locked, in a very close distance. It seemed to John as if all time stopped at that moment. It was the first time John really saw Sherlock's eyes up close, a beautiful pale blue-green color. His skin so pale, like porcelain, his lips as pink as the roses outside...

John leaned in, closing his eyes, not even noticing Sherlock as he became aware of something and jumped away. John opened his eyes, confused and somewhat disappointed as he saw the dragon in full-alert mode.

"Is something wrong?" John asked.

"Someone's at the door," Sherlock replied.

"It's probably just Greg or someone coming in for the night."

"No. They have keys. Someone _knocked_."


	14. Chapter 13: Old Enemies

**Chapter Thirteen: Old Enemies**

Sherlock looked outside the dining room, then crept over to the front door. Mycroft met him there, and John followed. It was Mycroft who answered the door.

"Hello, sir," he greeted the guest with a kindly manner. But John recognized him; he was no stranger. John remembered that dark figure, not too tall, in dapper clothes, with dark, sleek hair and a creepy grin.

"Jim?" John said. He heard a scurrying sound from upstairs; Sherlock had ran and hid from this man, a stranger to him, most likely, not wanting to scare him with his appearance.

"Johnny Boy!" Jim said eagerly, embracing John in an awkward hug. "How have you been? It's been almost a week since I ran into you in the woods."

"Has it?" John asked, getting out of Jim's hug. "Has it been that long?"

"How are you? How's your arm?"

"Better. How did you find me?"

"Well, I was running from the hounds, and I noticed that you had gone. Next thing I know, you're getting attacked by a vicious beast! I went for help, but when I came back, you were gone."

"Jim, I wasn't attacked. I was actually-"

"Your sister got so worried about you! The whole town thought you were dead! Luckily, I reassured them that you were still alive."

"You knew I was alive?"

"Of course. You're Dr. John Watson, tough as nails, lasted a war! My Johnny Boy!" Jim gave John a pat on the back, now walking circles around him. John then realized he was the only one in the room with Jim.

"So," Jim continued, "this is where you work, eh? It's luxurious. I was here about ten years ago, but I left suddenly due to...oh, I forget. What was it? A thunder storm? A power outage? All I know is that it sent almost everyone running for the hills."

"Jim," John said. "It was nice of you to come, but I think you should-"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Was I disturbing your work?" John could tell he was stalling now. "So sorry, let me leave you to it. I'm sure that you have plenty on your hands with Sherlock and all..."

"Wait. You know Sherlock?"

"Oh! Must've gone unmentioned. Of course I know Sherlock Holmes. We were pals for a bit, but then the whole fiasco happened here, and I hadn't seen him since. How is he?"

"Get out." A voice growled from upstairs. Jim and John looked upwards to see a shadowy figure in the west corridor.

"Ah, Sherlock!" Jim said with a cheery tone. "How have you been? It's been ten years... I'm hoping you're doing well."

"Enough of your games, Moriarity!" Sherlock snarled, walking closer. John was surprised that Jim knew of Sherlock, as well as the fact that Jim didn't seem scared when he saw the dragon.

"My my, Sherlock, dapper as ever."

"Don't flatter me."

"Alright. Game over, I get it. But is it really over?"

"I know why you're here."

"You do now?"

"You came to kill me."

"_Kill_ you? No, not yet. I'm waiting for a good time to do that. No, Sherlock. I came here to see how your slave was doing."

"John is no slave to me!"

"Sure he isn't. Remember what I said to you, Sherlock, when I found you cursed ten years ago? It's true...you deserved it." Jim looked at Sherlock with his dark eyes.

That's when Sherlock completely lost it. He jumped from the staircase and tackled Jim to the ground, clawing at him and snarling, but John held him back.

"Sherlock!" he said. "Calm yourself! Calm down!"

Jim got out from under Sherlock and headed towards the door, then Sherlock calmed down a bit, but John still held him just in case.

"Well I better be off," Jim said, opening the door into the evening. "Ciao, Sherlock Holmes. And I will see you later, Johnny Boy. Don't think I haven't given up on you yet." And with that, Jim shut the door, and John let go of Sherlock. He could see that Sherlock was still on edge.

"Sherlock," John said as Sherlock began to pace around. "Sherlock, calm down. What was that all about? You knew Jim?"

"_You_ knew Jim?" Sherlock growled under his breath.

"I didn't know he would find me. Maybe I shouldn't have come here in the first place..."

"Don't say that!" Sherlock snapped at John. "Don't say that! Jim Moriarity is a psychopath! If anything, you're safer here, with-"

Sherlock began to sway, holding a hand to his head. John immediately caught him before they both fell to the floor.

"Sherlock!" John gasped. Sherlock had exerted himself, and he was already getting sick, so he had fallen unconscious when he was yelling. John could see that Sherlock was afraid, still breathing heavy when he was unconscious. John picked up Sherlock and took him into the parlor, lying him on the couch. Soon enough, Sherlock woke up.

"What happened?" he asked.

"You passed out," John replied. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine... Moriarity..."

"I know. He apparently knows you well."

"If you're smart, John, you'll stay away from him."

"I've been trying to avoid him for a while now. He's a creep, I told you." John and Sherlock laughed a little bit, which made John forget about the moment he shared with Sherlock before Jim arrived.

* * *

Author's Note: Greetings. No, I like hello better. Hello!

Thank you guys for the continued support! It's always appreciated. I am ending exams today, so my schedule will continue as normal. Yay!

Happy reading! Maybe not, because now the story is going to take a turn for the worse...

- Detective M.


	15. Chapter 14: Games

**Chapter Fourteen: Games**

_Ten Years Ago..._

People were running, screaming. Sherlock couldn't see them; he refused to come out after what he just saw, what just happened to him. He was afraid, confused, but mostly, he was angry and upset. He wanted to scream, to thrash and shout loud curses. He locked himself away in his room, hoping to never come out again.

It was dark, just how he wanted it. As he settled in the quiet of the corner of his room, he began to calm down a bit. He looked at his hands, seeing the scratches he left on his nails from attacking the hallway wallpaper. He looked to his side and saw a mirror. Now he had a glimpse of his new form, tail and horns and everything.

He hated it.

He walked up to the mirror and flung it to the ground in rage, so that all the pieces cracked and shattered onto the floor. Then he began to throw a childish fit and throw himself onto the bed, screaming into his pillow.

There was a knock at the door.

"Go away!" Sherlock shouted. But the door opened anyway, and a man stepped in. It wasn't his brother, nor was it anyone from the staff (they had all fled, it seemed like). It was a man whose face Sherlock didn't recognize. And there were two people, Sherlock noticed the other person, a curvy woman, whom he recognized from earlier that night.

"You..." Sherlock said. "You did this to me!"

The woman smiled, looking at the shorter man next to her. The man was holding a box, which he opened the lid and took out an hour glass on a stand that made it spin.

"A gift, for you," said the man, walking into his room and placing the hourglass on a table in the room. "You have ten years, my dear Sherlock, to find someone to love you. Either way, I'm going to kill you."

"Who are you?" Sherlock asked.

"Jim Moriarity. Hi. Come along, Ms. Adler." Moriarity walked out of the room with the woman, but not before turning around and saying, "Don't be upset, Sherlock. Face it, you _deserved_ this..." With that, Moriarity left the room, shutting the door behind him.

Sherlock got up from the bed and observed the hourglass. It would rotate every hour exactly, and it would spin on until the day that Sherlock would grow sick and die...

_Present day..._

"Time grows nearer, Sherlock," said Mycroft to his brother in the garden as he takes a white rose and cuts the thorns with small scissors. "I imagine that Dr. Watson has at least shown some affection for you. That is a good start."

"If only I had more time," said Sherlock. "I need it. As time passes, Moriarity plots his demise to kill me. He might kill me before my allotted time."

"I won't allow that to happen. You're my brother, and I do care about you."

"I know you do..."

"If anything, Dr. Watson is most likely to fall in love with you. You've given him something that he hasn't had in a while..."

"Which is?"

"A friend. He has also done the same to you. You two are compatible. I can see it."

"That's very reassuring, Mycroft."

"Sarcasm is the lowest form of flattery, brother."

"Love is a chemical defect, I always thought. But maybe..."

"If anything, Sherlock, love is human nature. You're becoming more human by accepting it."

"I see."

"Sherlock!" Mycroft and Sherlock turned to see John coming up to the garden. "There you are. I was wondering where you went."

"You don't need to be concerned about me," Sherlock replied. "If anything, I will not leave the manor grounds unless I absolutely need to, like if I'm playing with a ball and it goes over the gate." Sherlock looked at John and gave him a wink. John grinned.

"Want to walk around then?" John asked. "Together? We can chat and walk around if you'd like."

"I'd love to." Sherlock got up from the rusty bench he was sitting on and followed John down the stone path through the garden. Being with John made Sherlock happy, made him forget for a while that he was partially a beast and that he only had so long to live. Being with John made Sherlock forget that time even existed. All his worries, all his troubles, were slowly being forgotten in the presence of the happy and caring doctor.


	16. Chapter 15: When You Love Something

Chapter Fifteen: If You Love Something

A call was all it took.

It had been at least six weeks since John had gotten the job at the manor. Four weeks ago, Jim had returned, but he had not come back since then.

Over four weeks, John got to know Sherlock a bit more. Before he was a dragon, Sherlock used to dabble in science. He still does, doing little experiments in his room, one which involved Sherlock and John to extinguish a fire.

"Wait," John said, "you can't breathe fire?"

"I wish I could. That would be useful."

"That would be dangerous."

"Dangerously awesome."

"...Yeah, it'd be awesome."

Also, John realized that Sherlock had a habit of "thinking." He would take time in solitude and think; it was one of those things that also irritated him when he was interrupted. John tried to do his best and keep his solitude.

The thing is, after the dinner, John did regret one thing: he didn't get a kiss from Sherlock. Sherlock never implied that he wanted one; maybe John was a fool for trying. But even so, John didn't give up on him.

Every day or so now, John would see Sherlock becoming less mobile. He began to lie in the trees, barely following John. Sometimes, he would even catch the dragon had fallen asleep in the parlor, on the couch or even on the floor, curled up. In those times, John would smile, then pick him up and take him back to his room (which he now had access to). John could see that Sherlock was only getting worse, and he wondered why the spoiled brat was still going...

Then, after six weeks of being in the manor, John got a call from Harry.

"Hey, John!" she said.

"Harry," John responded. "It's been a while. How are you?"

"Fine. How are you enjoying your job? Having fun?"

"It's interesting, I can tell you that."

"When are you coming home?"

"Why do you ask?"

"I was just wondering. I haven't seen you for six weeks."

"Harry, if you miss me, you can tell me."

"I do. It's just...please can you come home?"

"I'll see what I can do, I suppose. I'll call you back later and tell you if I can come-"

"Tonight."

"Tonight? That's a bit hasty, isn't it?"

"Please?"

"Uh... I'll see what I can do, alright? Alright, goodbye then." John hung up the phone, a little bit curious as to why Harry was being so hasty. Was she in trouble? What had she done?

He received this call some time in the afternoon. John noticed that Sherlock hadn't even come out of his room. He must've been feeling sick, since John found him asleep.

"Are you feeling alright?" John asked. He heard a groan come from the dragon, so John went over.

"Long night?" he asked. Sherlock slowly sat up in bed, as pale as a ghost, dark circles under his eyes.

"Can't sleep," he muttered. John cupped Sherlock's cheek in his hand, rubbing his thumb against his soft cheek. "I heard you talking to your sister."

"Uh...yeah. She wants me to visit tonight."

"I heard."

"Maybe I should reschedule, if you're not feeling good or-"

"No."

"What?"

"No, you can...go if you want."

"Are you serious?" Sherlock nodded.

"In fact, if you need to stay, you can. In town, I mean."

"Sherlock, are you giving up on me?"

"No, I'm letting you go."

"Letting me go? Sherlock, what the hell are you-"

Time stopped. In one quick motion, one quick embrace, as Sherlock took John's cheeks and kissed him. On the lips.

Once he let go, John stared at Sherlock for a long time, wide-eyed, heart thumping, surprised. Sherlock had disappointment and humiliation on his face, and he quickly fled from his room.

The hourglass turned another time. John looked at it with dismay: 200 hours were left. Sherlock could be dead in the matter of almost a week.

After a while, John exited the room and was finally able to comprehend some things. He knew one thing for sure- Sherlock gave him permission to see his sister. Everything else, he wasn't able to understand.

* * *

**Author's Note: Hello again! I hope you're enjoying the story so far! Once again thanks for all the feedback. It's really appreciated. **

**Also, don't be too upset once this story ends, because another one is on its way! That's how I'll do my fan fictions, I'll write one, then after it's finished, I'll write another. So look out for the next one! **

**- Detective M. **


	17. Chapter 16: Deception

**Chapter Sixteen: Deception**

John packed some of the things he thought of bringing to Harry's. He promised himself that he would only stay for a night or two, then get back to taking care of Sherlock.

Before John left, however, he noticed that Sherlock was standing in his doorway.

"I was just about to leave," John said.

"I know," Sherlock replied. "Listen, about earlier, I just..._misjudged_ you."

"Huh?"

"Um... I'm not good at this, forgive me... I, uh, just wanted to ask you when you were coming back."

"In a day or two. Here." John handed a slip of paper to Sherlock. "That is my cell phone number. If you ever have a medical emergency, you can call me. All right?" Sherlock nodded, his face full of sadness. "Hey, it will be alright. It's only two days." John kissed Sherlock's cheek and left his room, heading out of the manor.

* * *

"So you're going to let him leave?" Greg asked Sherlock, who was standing at the window, watching John leave through the gate.

"You know what they say," Sherlock replied. "If you truly love something, you have to let it go."

"If he loves you, he'll come back, right?"

"I suppose. But John doesn't love me... Greg, I think I'm going to die... When I do, swear to me you'll watch over him. I don't want him to get hurt."

"Of course, Sherlock." Greg patted Sherlock on the back.

* * *

John was taken back to town, where it seemed to be almost empty. John found this ominous, and headed to his house.

"Harry?" he called when he opened the door. He didn't see Harry anywhere. He walked around the house to find someone in the kitchen. Someone, but not Harry.

The man gave John a sly grin, tipping back in his chair, holding a drink in his hand, his other arm dangling over the back of the chair.

"Johnny Boy!"

"_You_?" John backed away, his suitcase in one hand. "How did you get in?"

"Harry let me in," Jim replied, standing up and walking towards John. "So nice of her to invite us over, don't you think?" Jim was so close that John could feel his breath on his neck. It was disturbing at the least.

"I want you out of my house," John ordered. "_Now_."

"Ooh, getting all military on me, are ya, Johnny? Don't you want to hear the story?"

Out of nowhere, John was grabbed from behind by another man (Sebastian) and tied into the chair Jim was recently sitting in.

"What the hell, Jim!"

"Hush, Johnny Boy. It's story time... Once upon a time- to be more specific, ten years ago- there was a certain man by the name of Sherlock Holmes. Strong, debonair, chuffed, and incredibly intelligent, almost as clever as me. I saw him at several parties, barely socializing, the pretty thing. I tried to get his attention, I really did, and however hard I tried, he turned me away."

"You flirted with Sherlock Holmes?"

"_At_ him. I always thought he never understood the feelings that I was trying to imply, but no, he's way too smart to be so ignorant. He was ignoring me. He saw who I was and what I could do. With a mind like mine, I have become a criminal, killing countless people when someone asked me to. But Sherlock just kept getting in my way. The bastard wanted rid of me. And so, I tried to find something that could end him.

"That's how I met Ms. Adler. She trained herself in dark arts and dark magic and has cursed many men, all whom have died on her part. She was a seductress, but I told her that Sherlock was not wooed by looks at all, and dismissed any form of sexual attraction. So she showed up to one of his parties as a beggar, and when his selfish heart turned her away, she wanted to change him into a dragon.

"He moved too quickly, mid-transformation, and became the beast he was meant to be... And so I gave him a gift, to symbolize how long he had left to live before I killed him softly."

"The hourglass..." John murmured under his breath.

"Yes. Do you know what happens if you mess up the pattern? Time moves faster, and if you keep on turning it, he will surely die... Aw, don't be upset, Johnny Boy. He _deserved_ what he got."

"He didn't deserve it at all!" John shouted. "You cursed him out of anger, just because you didn't get your way! Not everyone is going to just be however you want them to be, Jim. You can't control anyone!"

"Can I?"

"Oh my God, Jim! Let it go! If anything, you're worse than Sherlock, and if anyone deserves to be cursed, it's _you_!"

"Oh, John, I thought you would be more cooperative. Don't tell me...that you've fallen in love with Sherlock Holmes?"

"What?"

"You heard me correctly."

"I..."

"I knew I could count on you, John, to foil his plans in finding love... Seb, put John into the basement with his sister. I have a dragon to slay."

"No!" John began to struggle, trying to get out of the chair, but Sebastian had a good grip on it, and took John into the basement, where Harry was in the same predicament as her brother.

"I'm so sorry," Harry began to sob. "He said he'd hurt me. He said he'd..."

"It's okay, Harry," John reassured his sister. "We'll get out of here. I promise..."


	18. Chapter 17: Every Minute Matters

**Chapter Seventeen: Every Minute Matters**

His head was groggy, his thoughts becoming more and more mixed up in his head like the chemicals in his test tubes. His vision becoming blurry, his movements becoming wobbly, his ligaments and head throbbing and aching. It wasn't long before he became so dizzy he retched.

Sherlock was getting really sick, and it hurt him to think that he didn't have John with him.

Sherlock was lying on the floor, locked away in his bedroom, broken down, next to a puddle of brown, sticky bile. He wondered how long he had until his allotted time drew near. He didn't know anymore; he had stopped keeping track for some time. Now he couldn't see the dial properly, so he got the numbers mixed up.

He never admitted that he was afraid, but he was truly scared. He didn't want to die; he was hoping John would be back soon before he got really sick and forgot faces.

He heard someone walk into his room. Hoping it was his beloved Doctor, Sherlock slowly sat up on the floor, but with fear rather than relief.

"Oh, look at you," said the short man in the suit, "you've made a mess on the floor. Might want to get someone to clean that up." Moriarity went over to the table where the hourglass was. "Shall we play a game?"

"I'm..." Sherlock said, "sick...of your tedious games!"

"I'm sure this one will be more interesting." He gave Sherlock a twisted smile, placing his hand on the hourglass. "Do you really think that Dr. Watson actually loves you? Believe me, all he wants to do is wait for you to die so he an get his pay."

"That's a lie!" Sherlock snapped, pushing himself up so he was able to get his hands on the table. Moriarity looked at the hourglass.

"You do realize what happens when I turn it, Sherlock, to you?"

"Let me guess, I die."

"Die? But of course, Sherlock. And in the end, I will find a suitable way to end the doctor... Now, shall we play the game? The rules are simple, Sherlock. Every minute will pass, and each minute the doctor doesn't arrive, I turn it. Every minute he chooses not to return, every minute he chooses to ignore you."

"Stop this!" Sherlock said. "Please!"

"Now you're begging for mercy. Has the doctor made you soft?"

"No. You stop this! Do whatever you want with me, but leave John alone!"

"Aw. You _are_ in love with him. Too bad that's not how the curse works. Oh, there's a minute." Moriarity took the hourglass and turned it. Sherlock felt pain in his chest, knowing that messing up the cycle would eventually kill him. It wasn't the hourglass that was enchanted, you see. It was the _dial_ that tracked the numbers. It was the dial that counted the time.

Sherlock prayed that John would find him.

* * *

**Author's Note: Hello! **

**I recently finished writing every chapter for this fan fic. It was so sad to see it go. *sniff* They grow up so fast! **

**But that means another one is on its way! Yay! So look out for that. **

**As always, thank you for the reviews and followers who love reading the story! It is always appreciated. **

**- Detective M. **


	19. Chapter 18: Saving a Spoiled Brat

**Chapter Eighteen: Saving a Spoiled Brat**

"_Hrraghh_!" John tried to get the door open, although he was tied to a chair and his shoulder still hurt badly from his wound. He tried over and over and over until he was close to tears and gave up, sitting back down by his sister.

"This is my fault." John's head sunk as he stared at his knees. His sister looked at him with surprise and content.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"This is my fault. If I hadn't gotten involved, Sherlock wouldn't be in danger!"

"Not to be a downer here, but he would die anyway, wouldn't he? I heard that story he was telling. It seemed like Sherlock would be dying anyway. Unless, of course, you loved him."

"That's the thing, Harry. I don't know if I am. I mean, he is handsome and tall, a good chap, with a brilliant mind, and soft skin, and a sensitive heart, and beautiful eyes... My God, Harry, if you could hear him speak, see him move, learn about his personality. He seemed like such a spoiled brat, but he was willing to be less difficult, more loving, selfless..."

"You _do_ love him." Harry looked excited.

"You think so?"

"You do, John. And if you love him, you have to get out there and save him!"

"You're right, Harry." John tried to move his hands, tried to get out of the chair. Sebastian was very good at tying a man to a chair, John admitted. He tried to use all his strength to get out, but all his efforts seemed unsuccessful. John sighed.

Then a thud was heard upstairs.

"Who was that?" Harry asked.

"I don't know," John replied.

Suddenly, the cellar door opened. Standing in the doorway was a tall man, leaning his body against an umbrella. Another man came in running. It was Greg and Mycroft.

"Guys!" John exclaimed. "You don't know how happy I am to see you." Greg took a knife out of his pocket and began to free John and Harry.

"Hurry, Greg," Mycroft urged. "We don't have much time. It was stupid of me to leave the manor alone with Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock. Moriarity is probably already there. We don't have much time. Moriarity is going to corrupt the hourglass."

"Oh no," John gasped. "We need to go now! I'm not letting Sherlock die on me. Not today. Not now. Harry! Come along!"

"Me?" Harry said, pointing to herself.

"Yes. Come on." The four raced up the stairs and into not a black car, but a police car.

"Much faster," Greg said.

"Smart idea," Harry commented. The four quickly jumped into the car, Greg driving, and drove off. "Wait! What about Sebastian?"

"He's in the trunk," Mycroft said with a sneer. "He'll be alright. We won't kill him. But I might have broken my umbrella, though..."

John giggled, but then became serious. He was off to save Sherlock Holmes, the man who he loved dearly. He couldn't bear to lose him, especially not to Moriarity.

* * *

**Author's Note: And I uploaded two chapters today! Why? Because they're two of my shortest chapters. Besides, you guys love reading this. As always, thank you! **

**- Detective M. **


	20. Chapter 19: The Curse of Sherlock Holmes

**Author's Note: A Rose By Another Name is coming to a close. One more chapter and it's finished. **

**I cried writing this chapter especially. You have now been warned.**

**As always, thanks for the continued feedback! It is always appreciated. **

**- Detective M. **

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen: The Curse of Sherlock Holmes**

Fifteen minutes had gone by. Fifteen times Moriarity had turned that cursed hourglass. Sherlock was trying to hold himself together, gasping for air, coughing and throbbing everywhere. His hands trembled, his body lying on the floor near the shattered mirror. He had tried to get up several times, but he was too weak to move, too weak to even speak. He felt like crying, but he tried his best to be strong. For John.

"Dear me, Sherlock Holmes, dear me," Moriarity said in his soft voice. "Another minute. Still no doctor. Shame." Another turn. Another pinch of pain on Sherlock. Moriarity's eyes became bright. "I thought he would be quicker than this. Maybe he's..._tied up_ at the moment."

Sherlock quickly came to the realization that Moriarity had captured John.

"Where..." Sherlock struggled saying, "is...he?" Moriarity simply shrugged.

* * *

John and the other three had finally reached the manor. John immediately got out of the car, running towards the manor, opening the doors, rushing around, thinking of where Sherlock could be.

"Sherlock!" he called desperately. "Sherlock, where are you? Sherlock, please! Answer me! Sherlock!"

* * *

"Sherlock!"

The dragon heard a familiar voice. Moriarity seemed somewhat surprised, but chucked.

"So," he said, "the doctor has come to die after all." He took his hands off the hourglass. "Such a shame, he's already too late. Must he die for you, Sherlock?"

Sherlock didn't know how, he didn't know why, but he somehow regained a lot of his strength, possibly due to his love for and hope in John. He tackled Moriarity to the ground. Then he and the dragon were in an all out wrestling match, grabbing wrists and twisting arms, punching faces and tacking each other to the ground. Sherlock even shattered his window, and the two fell onto a balcony.

John noticed them falling onto the balcony and looked out the shattered window, seeing Sherlock on top of Moriarity, prepared to crack the man's skull. John took the hourglass and climbed out the window, sliding down the roof to the balcony.

"Good," Moriarity said. "Very good. How nice of you to join us, Johnny Boy."

"Leave him be," Sherlock growled, baring his dragon-like fangs. "And leave this place! Never come back!"

"Sherlock," said John, "calm down. Calm down, Sherlock. You'll kill him!"

"Wouldn't I love to see him dead-"

"Sherlock, no. I don't care who it is, just don't! You're not a vicious killer, you told me! Please, Sherlock..."

Sherlock looked at John, seeing the doctor's eyes full of fear, full of sadness. He made John believe that he wouldn't kill,and now he had a chance to get rid of the man who did all this. He couldn't do this. He didn't want anyone to be afraid of him. He didn't want John to be afraid of him.

Sherlock got off of Moriarity, sitting on the floor, leaning his head against the balcony, breathing heavily. Moriarity sat up once again and began to laugh.

"Look how soft you've become, Sherlock. Look how loving and selfless. It's about time you changed. But I think it's too late. Too too late..." Moriarity stood up and went over to John. "If you ever feel about having a drink, you know, after he's dead-"

"Get out, Jim!" John said. "I would _never_ want to date you! Just get out of my life!"

"Hm...the hourglass. You know what happens if you break it? Nothing. The dial? Time will stop for Sherlock, keep him like that forever, all sickly and weak, helpless and hopeless... Too bad it has to end for him." Moriarity quickly took the hourglass from John and smashed it. The dial was unharmed, moving once again, one less hour. Moriarity took a sharp piece of the glass just as Sherlock was about to charge at him.

Time stopped. John could not believe it. Blood ran down Moriarity's hand and on Sherlock's shirt. John's heart raced. His eyes became blurry with tears as Moriarity took the bloody shard out of Sherlock and walked over to the edge of the balcony, watching Sherlock fall to his knees.

"Too late for poor Sherlock," was the last thing he said before he fell backwards to his death. John looked over the edge to find a small body lying on the ground, a pool of blood around his head. Moriarity was dead.

John's attention turned to Sherlock, who was coughing up blood.

"Sherlock," John said, taking the man into his arms. John examined his wound; it was deep, seeping blood quickly. "Oh, dear God. Stay here, I'm going to go get-"

Sherlock grabbed John's jumper tightly in his fist. John looked at Sherlock, who was breathing heavily, looking into John's eyes with content and affection.

"John," he said. "Can you take me to the garden, please? I want to go to the garden. It's nice there... The roses are lovely and colorful..."

John knew what Sherlock was doing; he was taking them to his favorite place, so he could die there. John nodded slowly, picking him up and taking him to the garden. He noticed Mrs. Hudson, Greg, Harry and Mycroft standing in the front, watching as John took the dying man to the rose garden. Once they reached the garden, John knelt down and lied Sherlock in his arms again.

"Sherlock," John said, tearing up, "please. You can't die on me. I came here to save you. Please don't-"

"John," Sherlock interrupted him, taking his hand and caressing John's cheek, wiping the tear away with his thumb. "Don't cry. Don't ruin your face. You'll be fine, I promise."

"Sherlock, no. You can't. I won't-"

"If you love something, you let it go, John. Please." Sherlock gave John a weak smile, a drop of blood coming out of his mouth, a tear running down his cheek. "You...were the best friend I could ever ask for. John, I just want to thank you...for being my friend."

"Sherlock... I-"

"You don't have to say it, John. I know you do..." Sherlock began to close his eyes, leaning his head on John's chest, breathing slowly, as if he was falling asleep.

"Goodnight, Sherlock," John whispered, trying not to cry. John began to rock there, as if he was rocking Sherlock to sleep in his arms. Tears ran down Sherlock's cheeks; happy ones, indeed. John could see that Sherlock was dying happily, in his favorite place, in the arms of his best friend and the man he truly loved. A small smile spread across Sherlock's face.

"Goodnight, John..." he whispered. He let out a long sigh, then stopped breathing. John looked at Sherlock, limp in his arms, and began to sob greatly.

"Sherlock," he repeatedly sobbed. "Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock. Please don't go. Please... Sherlock, please, I... I love you..."

The words were the sweetest thing on his lips.

"I love you, Sherlock."


	21. Chapter 20: A Rose by the Name of John

**Chapter Twenty: A Rose by the Name of John Watson**

John sunk his head into Sherlock's lifeless chest, tears falling onto his bloody shirt. He felt so upset, so angry that he couldn't save Sherlock. If he had been quicker, he could have broken the curse, he could have saved him. Sherlock Holmes, the man he loved.

Then something happened. John felt it, he didn't know exactly what it was, but he knew what if felt like. Movement.

John looked at Sherlock. All his dragon parts had disappeared, as well as his wound! And he was breathing.

Sherlock opened his eyes again, looking at John, whose face was still wet from tears.

"You don't listen, do you?" Sherlock asked, taking his hand and drying off John's face. "I didn't want you to ruin your pretty face."

John was confused. He stood up, leaving the man on the ground, and walked away. He just saw Sherlock die. Now he wasn't a dragon, and he was alive. He couldn't believe it. No, really, he couldn't believe it.

"John?" Sherlock followed John across the garden. "John!" John would glance back to see him following, and Sherlock would stop, quite like he did before. As John kept walking, he went through the magnolia trees, which Sherlock proceeded to climb. Or at least try to.

John stopped when he heard rustling and crunching. He turned around to find Sherlock hanging upside down, his leg caught between two branches. It was funny; Sherlock looked ridiculous and also embarrassed. He wasn't the swift dragon with the same agility. He was a man.

"John," Sherlock said, "I would love it if you could help me."

John laughed. He walked over to Sherlock and squatted down so he was level with his face. He smiled at Sherlock.

"It _is_ you," John said, kissing his forehead.

"Obviously," Sherlock replied. "Except I don't have the tail. Or the horns. Or the fangs. Or the claws."

"Or the pointy ears." John rubbed Sherlock's ears with his fingers. Just then, Sherlock's foot broke loose, and he fell on his back. His head was level with John's lap, which the doctor proceeded to place his curly head in, stroking his hair. Sherlock smiled at the doctor lovingly with his beautiful blue-green eyes.

"John," said Sherlock, "have you ever wondered why I started calling you that? Originally I didn't want to. You see, I liked calling you Dr. Watson. It was nice, the name of someone I could probably trust. And I do like you. And I thought to myself, 'A rose by any other name is still as sweet.' Am I right?"

"Yes, Sherlock," John replied. John leaned forward to kiss Sherlock's lips. As they locked lips, a thought occurred to John: 'A rose by any other name...' That was how Sherlock was. He might have had the appearance of a dragon, but truly his appearance didn't necessarily make a difference to who he was. He was Sherlock, a bright young man, despite his disadvantage. Still, John might miss the dragon tail.

"Oh, John," Sherlock said, "you don't know how long I've waited for this moment."

"To be human?" John asked.

"No, to be loved. I've been so unappreciated for years, one of the many reasons I was so cold. But when I saw you, I..."

John smiled at Sherlock and kissed his forehead.

And so the impossible happened. A heartless beast found love, and even so found friendship. Appearance didn't matter. And you know what happens next.

John and Sherlock lived happily ever after.

The End.

* * *

**Author's Note: Aww! It's over already? Yes, it is. And it has been a wonderful journey with all of you. **

**Thank you for all the feedback and lovely comments, because they are always appreciated. It has been wonderful writing this story, and I hope you all enjoyed it. **

**My next fan fiction is on the rise. I haven't thought of what to write exactly, but I have some ideas. One of them including Gatsby. **

**Goodbye for now, you avid readers. See you very soon!**

**- Detective M. **


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